13. Haven
13
Haven
I stare at the spot where Tate disappeared, still trying to wrap my head around it. Carter has a twin. Same face, same frame, same dark brown eyes that make you forget how to think. But that’s where the similarities end.
Tate’s hair is darker, longer, curling at the edges like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it. Ink ran up his arms, followed by a snake curling along his neck, bold enough to make you look twice.
Tate is hot. Obviously, but it’s not the safe kind.
I tuck my legs up onto the couch, finally looking over at Carter, who’s still standing near the stairs like he’s half-expecting Tate to come back down and make another scene. Instead, he stays gone, and Carter finally exhales rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off whatever the hell that was.
I tilt my head, studying him, noticing the way his jaw is still tight, the way his fingers flex slightly at his sides.
Before I even realize I’m saying it, the words are out. “Is he always in such a shit mood or is that just a special occasion?”
Carter pauses. He lets out something that’s almost a laugh, but not quite. “Nah, he’s pretty much always like that.”
I nod softly, dragging my fingers over my knee, letting that sit for a second, letting it settle before changing the subject. I pat the open space beside me, raising an eyebrow. “So, you gonna sit with me or just stand there looking like you’re waiting for something to explode?”
Carter gives me a small smile, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly. “Honestly I was waiting to see if you run after that little family reveal.”
I let out a tiny laugh, shaking my head. “I mean you could’ve warned me a little, but I guess I’ll let it slide, for now.”
He huffs a laugh at that, finally moving toward the couch, dropping down beside me, all broad shoulders and easy confidence, like he wasn’t just visibly stressed out five seconds ago. I don’t forget things easily and there’s something he’s not telling me, but I let it go. Men always have a way of spilling secrets no matter how tightly they try to guard them, even the sweet ones.
He leans back, propping an arm against the back of the couch, eyes now glued to the TV. “So what are we watching?”
I shrug. “Dunno, you put something on before you disappeared. Thought I was just gonna be sitting here judging your taste in shows.”
Carter grins, slow and teasing. “You were looking forward to that, weren’t you?”
“Obviously.”
He shakes his head, reaching for the remote, flipping through streaming services like he’s actually looking for something, as if this isn’t just an excuse to let the silence fill the room for a minute.
I settle against the cushions, studying him out of the corner of my eye, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his brows furrow just slightly as he pretends to focus on the screen.
I know what he’s doing. I know he’s trying to change the subject, trying to get us past whatever just happened. I let him do it, until he says something I wasn’t expecting.
“So, how was your the rest of your last stream? Did your kill count improve, or are you still getting carried by your teammates?”
I whip my head toward him, pretending to be insulted. “Excuse me? First of all, I don’t get carried.”
Carter grins, stretching his arms over his head, he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Mmm, I dunno, Haven. That’s not what I heard.”
I scoff, grabbing a throw pillow and launching it at his head. “Oh, shut up.”
He catches it easily, smirking. “Defensive much?”
“You’re so full of shit.”
He laughs, the kind that makes my stomach flip, and for a second, I almost forget what we were talking about. Until I don’t, until I remember exactly what happened on my last stream and who was on the server that night.
My mood shifts instantly. I know exactly what Carter is doing. It’s not just teasing, it’s steering. And now that I think about it? It’s fucking obvious. I exhale sharply, crossing my arms. “If you really wanna talk about my last stream, we can talk about Tate. ”
Carter’s grin dims slightly, almost unnoticeably.
But I see it. The second his grin falters, just for a fraction of a second, just enough for me to catch it before he smooths it out again, I know.
I know that something about this isn’t just casual teasing, that something about the way he brought up my stream wasn’t just a throwaway comment, that maybe he was trying to redirect my focus away from exactly what I just landed on.
I move, pulling my knees back up against my chest, watching him carefully now, watching the way he leans back into the couch like he’s totally unbothered, watching the way his fingers drum lazily against the armrest.
“It is funny how you bring up my last stream though,” I say slowly, tilting my head, my voice lighter than I feel. “Because I spent most of it arguing with some absolute menace who thought it would be fun to get under my skin for the millionth time.”
Carter doesn’t react, not in the way that would make it obvious, anyway. But his fingers still, his breathing shifts.
I keep pushing. “I swear, this guy takes way too much pleasure in pissing me off,” I say, exhaling dramatically, dragging my fingers over the throw blanket beside me. “And the worst part? He’s good. Like, I hate to admit it, but he’s actually good. Which makes it even more annoying because I know he was holding back just to mess with me.”
Carter lets out a soft, noncommittal hum, eyes still on the TV, like he’s not really listening, like he’s not sitting there thinking a little too hard about what I’m saying. I narrow my eyes slightly.
“And then—” I continue, drawing out the words, watching for any more slivers of reaction, anything that confirms the sudden gut feeling pressing against my ribs. “—I get here, and your brother just so happens to wear the same exact mask as the guy who’s been tormenting me online for months?”
That does something, just a slight stiffening of his shoulders, a brief waver of his gaze in my direction, the smallest shift in his posture like he’s bracing for impact.
My stomach tightens, knotting with something sharp. I tilt my head, studying him now, pressing forward, following the trail of breadcrumbs I don’t think he meant to leave.
“You sure you don’t want to clue me in on that?” I ask. “Because it’s weird, Carter. You have to admit it’s weird.”
He finally turns his head toward me, like he’s already figuring out what he has to say to throw me off, to keep me from walking straight into the answer that, for some reason, he doesn’t want me to have.
“You really think my brother spends his time gaming?” he says, voice easy, but there’s something else in it.
For the first time since I met Carter, I don’t quite trust him. Not entirely. Not when I can feel a lie sitting somewhere between us. Not when I know, deep in my gut, that he’s not telling me something. And that something has everything to do with Tate.
I can feel it, the way the weight of whatever he’s been keeping from me is finally pressing too hard on his ribs, the way he doesn’t know how to package the words in a way that won’t detonate the second they leave his mouth.
I don’t let the silence stretch too long. I want him uncomfortable, because I sure as hell am. I sit up straighter, hands curled into my lap, eyes locked on his face. “You’ve known this entire time, haven’t you?”
Carter’s throat bobs, his fingers curling over his knees, his whole body tense like he’s already bracing for impact. I shake my head, pressing harder. “You knew Tate was the one who’s been fucking with me online.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, his whole posture sinking like I just confirmed something for him that he didn’t want to hear out loud.
And then, finally… he nods. Like he knows this answer changes everything.
I laugh, sharp, humorless, hollow. “So that’s it? That’s the whole explanation?”
Carter drags his hands down his face before resting his elbows on his knees, his voice tight, like he’s dragging it straight from his chest. “I didn’t know how to tell you Haven, honest,” he admits, voice rough. “At first, I didn’t think it mattered. You two hated each other, but it was just a game, just gamer shit-talking, nothing serious. But then…” He pauses, drags a hand through his hair, his eyes shifting to mine, searching. “Then you started talking about him differently.”
I blink. “Differently?”
Carter shifts, fingers flexing like he wants to reach for something, for me, maybe, but stops himself. “I mean the way you’d talk about how he pissed you off, the way you’d get so worked up, the way it wasn’t just about the game anymore.”
My jaw locks, irritation flaring hot under my skin. “Yeah, because he made it personal. He went out of his way to piss me off.”
Carter lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah. That’s what he does, what he thrives on.”
I stare at him, waiting, waiting, waiting for him to get to the part where this somehow makes any fucking sense. “So what?” I ask, shaking my head. “You just decided I didn’t need to fucking know at all?”
His fingers curl into his palm, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense up like he already hates his answer. “I didn’t want you to look at me and see him.”
That stops me for a moment, it’s not what I was expecting. I inhale sharply, my thoughts racing, fitting together pieces that I didn’t even realize were sitting on the table. Instead of warning me, he let it play out. I don’t know if I’m more pissed at him for keeping it from me, or more pissed at myself for not seeing it sooner. I stare at him, my pulse a hammer against my chest, my brain already moving a mile a minute.
Now that he’s said it out loud? There’s no way in hell I’m letting this go. For a second, I just sit there, letting the weight of everything he just admitted settle in, feeling the tension radiating off of him in waves, watching the way his jaw is locked so tight it looks like it might snap, the way his fingers flex against his knees like he doesn’t know what to do with them, like he’s waiting for the moment I completely lose my shit. Yeah, it’s fucking insane.
The fact that Carter’s twin is the guy who has been singlehandedly responsible for my most rage-inducing gaming moments all while driving me insane with those ‘pretty girl’ words.
The fact that Carter knew and never said a damn thing. Even with all of this crashing down around us, my brain still has the audacity to acknowledge how stupidly attractive both of them are.
I don’t know what happens first, the sharp exhale that turns into a full-body shake of my head, or the short, incredulous laugh that slips out before I can stop it. This is fucking ridiculous.
Carter’s brows pull together, his expression tightening like I just did something completely unexpected. “What—”
I hold up a hand, laughing harder now, because fuck, this whole thing is just so dumb. “Okay,” I breathe, swiping a hand over my face, finally locking eyes with him again. “Let me get this straight. You thought that if I knew Tate was your twin, I’d… what? Start associating you with him? Like I’d lump you both into the same category and suddenly hate you, too?”
Carter doesn’t say anything, but his lack of denial tells me everything.
I snort, shaking my head again, still laughing because holy shit. I lean forward, nudging his knee with mine, needing him to actually hear me now, needing him to stop sitting there like I just ripped the floor out from under him. “Carter,” I say, voice softer now. “You and Tate are nothing alike.”
I sigh, settling back against the couch, still trying to wrap my own head around everything but knowing one thing for sure.
“I mean, yeah, this whole thing is insane,” I admit, waving a hand in the air. “Like, actually, what-the-fuck level ridiculous. But you? I would never—” I shake my head, locking eyes with him again so he knows I mean it. “I would never put you in the same category as him.”
This should be the part where he finally exhales, where he finally stops looking like he’s standing on the edge of a goddamn cliff.
Carter shakes his head, lets out a breath, and mutter. “Maybe you coming here was a mistake Haven, I’m sorry.”
I freeze, what the hell? My stomach twists, my breath catching in my throat, my entire body going still as his words sink in.
Carter won’t look at me now. His hands are on his knees, his head tilted down slightly, his chest rising slowly, like he’s forcing himself to breathe evenly. He looks like he’s actually scared, Not nervous or uncomfortable, scared. I feel it before I even fully understand it.
Carter isn’t saying this because he wants me to leave. He’s saying this because he’s afraid that if I stay, he’s going to ruin everything between us. That pisses me off.
His hands are braced against his knees, his head tipped forward just slightly, like he’s waiting for me to stand up and walk out the door, like he’s already convinced himself that’s what’s going to happen next.
And I realize, suddenly, brutally, that this isn’t about Tate. This isn’t about the lie, about what he kept from me, about the months of silence, about the fact that he let me walk into this without telling me. This is about us. How much I mean to him, this is the look of someone who thinks he just lost the one thing he wanted more than anything.
I feel it, too. The sharp, twisting weight in my chest, the deep pull low in my stomach, the kind of realization that sneaks up on you, that rearranges everything you thought you knew, that shifts the foundation you didn’t even realize was unsteady. This thing between us, it was never just friendship, was it?
Not for him. And, if I’m really being honest with myself? Not for me either. I exhale slowly, dragging my nails over my jeans, forcing myself to move, to breathe, to do something before Carter talks himself into thinking I’m done with him. I shift, leaning forward, pressing my knee against his, my voice softer now, gentler, because this isn’t something I can joke my way out of, because he needs to hear it for real. “Carter, you’re an idiot,” I murmur.
His head lifts just slightly, just enough for me to see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, the way his brows pinch like he’s afraid to hope.
I shake my head, “I mean, seriously.” I huff out a breath, letting out a small, incredulous laugh, because I can’t believe I have to spell it out for him. “You really think I’d let this change how I feel about you?”
His throat bobs, his fingers twitch, but he doesn’t answer. He’s waiting, because he needs me to say it. I move closer, let my voice drop lower, let the words come out slower, steadier, no hesitation, no hiding, no pretending I don’t know what this is anymore. “You think I don’t know how crazy you are about me?”
Carter inhales sharply. His body goes completely still, like he wasn’t expecting me to say it. I hold his gaze, like I just completely ruined whatever fragile control he had left.
Maybe it’s not the ideal timing but fuck, I like it. I like knowing this isn’t just in my head, that I wasn’t imagining the way he looks at me, the way he’s looked at me since the moment I got here, the way he’s looking at me now, like I’m the most important thing in the goddamn world to him. I wet my lips, my voice barely above a whisper now. “You think I don’t feel the same?”
Carter blinks, exhales hard, his entire body tensing like he’s two seconds away from closing the space between us, from saying something that neither of us can take back.
I don’t stop him. I don’t move away. For the first time since I got here, for the first time since I met him in person, since I looked him in the eyes, since I realized how fucking deep I’ve already fallen, I don’t want to.